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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702256">And Then There Were Two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_gay_poster/pseuds/a_gay_poster'>a_gay_poster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Honeymoon, Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, Prompt Fill, Reverse Bedsharing, Teasing, The Mildest of Praise Kinks, Very Gentle Orgasm Denial, Vibrators</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:54:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_gay_poster/pseuds/a_gay_poster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee is delighted to finally get away for a romantic honeymoon with his new husband, Gaara. There’s just one problem: Their hotel room has two beds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gaara/Rock Lee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>177</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And Then There Were Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for a smut prompt fill on Tumblr. The prompt was: "Today’s a perfect day for naked cuddling.  I don’t even care what day it is.  Every day is perfect. (I’m gonna spend it with you.)"</p>
<p>Based on a true story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There are two beds.”</p>
<p>“Hmm?” Lee is still struggling to fit the wider of his suitcases through the hotel room’s narrow door. “There’s what?”</p>
<p>“Two beds,” Gaara repeats.</p>
<p>“That’s fine.” Lee finally manages to force the door closed behind him and stumbles a little on his way to poke his head over Gaara’s shoulder. “Just more space for us to- <i>oh.</i>”</p>
<p>There are, indeed, two beds in the room. One inches from the radiator under the window and the other practically touching the near wall. They’re twin beds, tiny, even the carpeted space between them wider than their thin mattresses with their tightly tucked hospital corners. Two bedside tables sit between them, their drawers no doubt laden with Bibles and a channel guide for the small TV on the other side of the room, and a brass lamp juts from the wall overhead each one, prim as a schoolmarm. </p>
<p>Lee <i>might</i> be able to fit in one to sleep, but only if he lies perfectly still, ideally with his arms crossed over his chest like a mummy. There’s really not even enough space on either of them to properly cuddle. Probably not enough space for them to get up to their planned pre-honeymoon activities, either. <i>Definitely</i> not enough space to use any of the things that are clattering around in the bottom of Gaara’s suitcase--the things Lee outright refused to pack in his own bag, out of some latent fear that they would get him pulled out of line at the airport for extra security checks, at which point he would probably die of mortification. </p>
<p>Gaara looks over his shoulder at Lee as if to say, <i>You see what I mean?</i> He crosses his arms over his chest, wrinkling his suit jacket and its tasteful pocket square. “I specifically booked a room with a king-sized bed. <i>One</i> king-sized bed.” </p>
<p>“Well.” Lee looks over at his fiance--no, <i>husband</i>, he corrects himself, and the thought sends a little thrill through him--and raises his eyebrows, unwilling to let his mood be dampened. “I’m sure we can come up with a solution.” </p>
<p>Gaara sighs. “I’ll call down to the front desk. Maybe they put us in the wrong room.”</p>
<p>“I hate to bother them--” Lee begins, but Gaara is already squinting at the dingy label on the telephone between the two beds, receiver in hand. </p>
<p>“Yes, hello,” he says, once the tinny ringing has resolved and Lee has dimly overheard someone picking up on the other end of the line. “We just checked in. There’s a mistake with our room reservation. We’re in room--oh?” Muffled chatter on the other side of the line. “Yes, that’s us. We booked a--<i>yes</i>.” </p>
<p>Lee can see a little divot forming between Gaara’s pale eyebrows, the one that means he’s starting to get frustrated. </p>
<p>“Yes, the reservation was under ‘Lee’ … no. Yes, <i>of course</i> we’re both men, what does that have to do with--?” The furrow between Gaara’s eyes deepens; he rubs the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. His lips purse; his voice goes snappish. Lee hates to see him so stressed, today of all days. “We’re on our <i>honeymoon</i>, we were planning to have s--”</p>
<p>The dial tone rings loudly through the room. Gaara’s glare follows the line of Lee’s arm up from where he’s slammed his hand on the switchhook to his awkwardly grinning face. </p>
<p>“I’m sure the lady at the front desk doesn’t need to know all that!” Lee squeaks. “Let’s put our heads together! I’m sure we can come up with a solution on our own!”</p>
<p>“<i>Putting our heads together</i> is exactly what’s going to happen if we both try to squeeze onto one of those beds,” Gaara mutters. “And your skull is hard as a rock. One of us will end up with a concussion, and it probably won’t be you.”</p>
<p>Lee frowns. “Maybe we can push the beds together?”</p>
<p>Gaara wrinkles his upper lip, but he sets the phone’s handset down with a sigh and begins unbuttoning his suit jacket. </p>
<p>A few minutes of grunted effort (primarily on Lee’s part, if he’s being honest … Gaara mostly just watches him and points out flaws in his technique) proves that they cannot, in fact, push the beds together.</p>
<p>“Why would you bolt a bedframe to the floor?” Lee groans, collapsing onto the room’s rickety desk chair with an exaggerated sigh, mopping sweat from his already damp forehead with the back of his arm. </p>
<p>“So people don’t steal it, I assume.” Gaara settles altogether more primly on the edge of the farthest bed and crosses his ankles. He starts fiddling with his cufflinks. There’s a flash of gold on his finger—the band of his new wedding ring. </p>
<p>Lee’s heart stammers at the sight, and he grins. </p>
<p>“Who would bother stealing a bed from a cheap hotel?” </p>
<p>Lee glances around the room. It’s certainly nothing to write home about, just a stopgap until they leave for their flight tomorrow, so they didn’t have to return home after the reception and worry about tidying and dishes and feeding the cat. The furnishings are spare and old-fashioned, heavy fabrics in dull, dark colors and muddy patterns designed to obliviate any notion of the former occupants’ dirt and debris. If Neji were here, he’d probably be scouring the place over with a blacklight. Lee suppresses a tiny shudder at the thought of what he might find. </p>
<p>Gaara taps his lower lip, looking lost in thought for a moment. </p>
<p>“Kankuro,” he concludes. Finally having liberated himself from his cufflinks, he shakes out his hands and drops them in the front pocket of his suitcase. </p>
<p>Lee grimaces at the thought of Kankuro struggling his way out of a motel with a purloined mattress slung over his shoulder. The mental image is certainly true to his new brother-in-law’s character. </p>
<p>“Ew.” </p>
<p>Lee stretches his arms over his head and grimaces as he catches a whiff of himself. Between the dancing at the reception and the exertion of trying to shove those unmoving behemoths around, he’s past the point of ripeness and well on his way to <i>rank</i>.</p>
<p>“I need to shower,” he announces. </p>
<p>Gaara just shrugs, already eyeing the space between the beds again as if it has personally offended him, his mother, and five generations of his family. </p>
<p>“I promise we’ll deal with this when I come back,” Lee says. “Together.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Lee opens the bathroom door and is followed into the room by a puff of steam. He tucks the rough terrycloth of the hotel’s thin towel tight around his waist and looks up to see Gaara, sitting on the bed closest to the window. He’s hung his jacket over the desk chair, but he’s still in his vest, a glossy green so dark it’s almost black. The hints of emerald thread in the fabric shimmer like a mermaid’s tail, bringing out the mossy undertones of his eyes. His top few shirt buttons are undone, so Lee can see the thin, bright white fabric of his undershirt, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to expose his narrow wrists. He turned the bed down sometime while Lee was in the bathroom, but he’s sitting on top of the blankets still, legs stretched out and thin ankles crossed in his stocking feet. </p>
<p>He lowers his eyelids in a look that’s probably meant to be sultry, but which mostly just succeeds in making him look sleepy. Luckily for him, or for Lee … or maybe for both of them, it works on Lee. Pretty much anything Gaara does works on Lee, really. </p>
<p>Lee crosses over to him on quick and quiet feet. </p>
<p>“Hi,” Lee says, standing now at the bedside, tentative fingers rubbing the coarse underside of the duvet. He’s suddenly brimming with nervousness, enraptured by the flash of the gold wedding band on Gaara’s finger. </p>
<p>“Hi,” Gaara echoes. </p>
<p>“We’re <i>married</i>,” Lee whispers, scarcely believing the words even as he speaks them.</p>
<p>Gaara’s hand finds his somewhere on the bedcover, and his thumb strokes over the band on Lee’s ring finger.</p>
<p>“We are.”</p>
<p>“You’re my <i>husband</i>,” Lee breathes. If he’s not careful, he’ll start crying all over again. And frankly he’s not sure if he has enough water left in him to survive that, after he bawled his way through both his <i>and</i> Gaara’s vows (and all of their friends’ toasts and most of the reception besides). </p>
<p>“I am.” Gaara’s voice is just a bare murmur. Whatever irritation he was carrying before, it’s all gone now, and his eyes are soft and fond as they study Lee’s face, then drop to his bare shoulders and chest. </p>
<p>His hand closes around Lee’s wrist, tugs him closer, until Lee’s half-kneeling against the edge of the bed, their faces just a breath apart. </p>
<p>Then Gaara cranes his neck up and kisses him. It’s probably the second-best kiss of Lee’s life, after their very first kiss as a married couple at the altar, with all their friends and family cheering them on. Maybe the first-best, even, Lee mentally revises, as Gaara pulls Lee on top of him, because certainly neither of them had been bold enough to do the things Gaara is doing with his tongue right now when they were in front of a crowd. </p>
<p>Gaara smiles against Lee’s mouth. Just a small, soft motion that Lee can feel in the curve of his lips.</p>
<p>“I can hear you thinking,” Gaara whispers. “What’s on your mind?”</p>
<p>“Just--uh--just--” Lee adjusts his knees a bit, so he’s sitting back on the tops of Gaara’s thighs. He doesn’t want to crush his husband to death on their wedding night, after all. No matter how insistent Gaara’s fingers are on the back of his hip, tugging him closer. However enthusiastic Gaara may be, there’s still really very little room to maneuver on the bed unless they’re directly on top of one another. “--just. Ranking our kisses.” </p>
<p>A minute, bewildered furrow manifests between Gaara’s pale eyebrows. His fingers fall a little slack. </p>
<p>“Oh? And where does this one rank?” </p>
<p>Lee grins and kisses that charming, confused wrinkle between Gaara’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Maybe the best one ever.” </p>
<p>Gaara hums, settling back into the pillows. He tugs at Lee’s shoulders until he’s curled down close, their faces nearly touching. Then Gaara slips his fingers up into the damp back of Lee’s hair, the close-cropped strands on his neck that are the quickest to dry, and pulls him back in for another kiss. </p>
<p>It’s almost chaste at first--just the soft press of lips on warm lips--if not for the fact that Lee’s only wearing a towel, and if not for the way Gaara’s hips are shifting beneath his thighs. Gaara sighs into it, his hands slipping down around Lee’s neck to pull him closer, sinking further down into the plush of the pillow. He bites at Lee’s lower lip, gently nipping, not even really hard enough to sting. It’s almost playful, inasmuch as Gaara ever <i>plays</i> at anything. Though the assertiveness with which he claims Lee’s mouth, when Lee finally parts his lips to let him in, is anything <i>but</i> joking. His hands slide from Lee’s neck to his shoulders, leaving peaky trails of goosebumps on his skin, fingers hot where the bathwater has dried cool. </p>
<p>Wherever Lee feels the press of Gaara’s fingers, the full span of his hand, he notices that little spot where the temperature and texture differ, right at the base of the knuckle of Gaara’s ring finger on his left hand.  Lee can’t help but smile into the kiss, blood simmering with disbelief and delight--<i>We’re married!</i>--even as Gaara’s licking at the inside of his lower lip. Gaara pulls at his shoulders in a very game attempt at seduction, clearly angling to get Lee right where he wants him. </p>
<p>Lee pulls back then, just enough to see the flush spreading on Gaara’s cheek, the little put-upon moue of his lips as Lee disengages. </p>
<p>Lee wants Gaara as overwrought as he is. And with no obligations pressing in on them, no 5 AM alarms or bus timetables or cats scratching at the bedroom door to be fed, he has all the time he needs. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Gaara’s mouth, trails more of them across his cheek to the angle of his jaw. </p>
<p>He bares his teeth there, against the swell of flesh where Gaara’s face becomes neck, nips at it just to hear Gaara’s hasty, indrawn breath. He kisses his way over to Gaara’s ear, to the place just behind the lobe that’s exquisitely sensitive, and sucks a gentle kiss there too. Gaara likes to be bitten there, although he liked it more when they were younger and he didn’t have to worry about what people at the office would say the next day. So Lee just licks at the spot, careful not to leave a mark, mindful of how high Gaara’s shirt collars are. But then--he realizes with a little thrill--nobody at the office will say anything at all tomorrow, because neither of them have to <i>go</i> to work. In fact, they won’t see anyone they know for the whole next week, so Lee is free to mark Gaara up as much as he wants, beyond even the rings that claim them as each other’s. </p>
<p>Lee bites down. Gaara makes a noise that shoots right down Lee’s spine and buries somewhere deep inside him. He’s hard under the towel, just like that, all of a sudden. Gaara’s hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in.</p>
<p>“Again,” he pants, and Lee obliges him. </p>
<p>Lee leaves a trail of hot-sharp marks down the tendon of Gaara’s neck, a tidy little row of suck marks, blood-blister red in the middle and flushed pink around. Every time he bites down, Gaara makes that pitched little groan again, that wordless sound that means <i>more</i> and <i>harder</i>. </p>
<p>As Lee arrives at the collar of Gaara’s shirt, he sits back a little and observes the evidence of his handiwork: Gaara’s face turned away into the pillow, eyelids fluttering; the tension of his forearms, hands clenched on the caps of Lee’s shoulders; the tenting fabric at the front of his dark trousers, knees splayed out beneath Lee’s body. </p>
<p>The beautiful thing about formal clothes, Lee thinks as he starts on the buttons of Gaara’s vest, is how complicated they are. As if the more buttons something has, the fancier it is. And Gaara’s vest must be very fancy indeed, because there’s a whole line of the tiny fasteners, slow to separate under Lee’s fingers as he turns his attention to the other side of Gaara’s neck. </p>
<p>It’s a slow, simmering torture, unbuttoning Gaara piece-by-piece, not even yet revealing skin, only the dress shirt beneath. And then, when those buttons too are done away with, the whole tiny line of them meticulously undone at the pace of the kisses he lays to the underside of Gaara’s jaw: the thin white cotton of his undershirt. </p>
<p>Gaara leans forward a little, so Lee can gently tug the vest and shirtsleeves from his shoulders. Lee deposits them in the open mouth of the suitcase on the floor, taking care not to let Gaara’s nice clothes touch the grime of the carpet. As he finagles his way through the motions, he remembers suddenly just how tiny of a space they’re operating in, how their movements have started to cause their bodies to stray to the edge of the bed. He nudges Gaara back to the center of the mattress with his knee. </p>
<p>Gaara looks up at Lee, propped up on his elbows. Rubbing against the pillow has removed all the gel from his neatly combed hair, and now it sticks up in the back, rumpled and disheveled like the worst of his bedhead. He looks almost the same as he does when he wakes up from an unexpected midday nap on the couch. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, Lee can see the little hardened peaks of his nipples. This is where he turns his attention next. His fingers skate down to Gaara’s waistband to untuck him, then up under the hem of his shirt. Not yet pushing it up, just mapping him by touch. </p>
<p>His fingers brush up over Gaara’s stomach and ribs. Gaara still has no muscle definition to speak of--probably never will, if all the years of Lee exhorting him to join him in his workouts have yet to take effect--but a few years’ worth of Lee’s home cooking have at least put enough meat on his bones that he’s a far cry from the scrawny, half-malnourished teenager he was when they first met. </p>
<p>Gaara just lies there, quiet breathing gone a bit ragged, eyes tracking over the shape of Lee’s hands moving up and under his shirt. Lee’s fingers find the nubs of Gaara’s nipples, and he pinches them, gently, just enough to make Gaara’s breathing stutter. </p>
<p>Gaara is so <i>sensitive</i>. His skin is like a delicate sensor carefully calibrated to Lee’s touch. Lee loves this about him, the difference between their bodies, how touching some parts of Gaara can bring him almost to the edge with just a few touches, while the same parts of Lee’s body hardly feel anything at all. </p>
<p>Gaara’s head tips back, his mouth open and his pink tongue visible inside. Lee twists his fingers, and Gaara <i>writhes</i> underneath him, his hips squirming on the bed. Lee clenches his thighs together to anchor Gaara from wriggling himself right off the mattress. </p>
<p>“Lee,” Gaara says warningly, between one gasp and the next. “Come <i>on</i>.” His voice is wrecked, though, vowels hoarse and consonants half-slurred. </p>
<p>Lee just smiles, flicks Gaara’s nipples with the backs of his fingernails and revels in how Gaara’s back starts to bow off the bed, a whine caught in his throat. </p>
<p>He drags Gaara’s undershirt up finally, tugging Gaara upwards so the fabric comes free of his shoulders and arms, and Gaara settles back down with a sigh, fingers finding the edge of Lee’s towel. His temptation doesn’t last long, though, because Lee takes advantage of the newly exposed skin to lean down and kiss Gaara’s chest. He licks at his nipples--first one, then the other--and then, in the middle of Gaara’s half-frustrated, half-aroused groan, he bites down and sucks. Not hard enough to mark his skin, just hard enough to make him moan between his teeth, enough to make him drop his hands to fist in the bedsheets. </p>
<p>One of Gaara’s knees comes up, and his leg wraps around Lee’s hips, bony heel digging into Lee’s butt to drag him closer. Lee’s hips drop into the cradle of Gaara’s legs, and Gaara’s answering groan is sweet in his ears. Gaara grinds up against him in hard, slow little circling motions. His fingers rake down Lee’s back like claws, pressing him closer. Those small hands scratch down and knead at Lee’s ass, nimble fingers finding the fastening of Lee’s towel and undoing it. Even when the fabric is torn away, Lee’s skin exposed to the room, the terry cloth is still stuck between them because Gaara refuses to relent even for a second, still grinding hot and desperate against Lee. </p>
<p>The kiss that follows is so heated that Lee’s toes curl. Their mouths map a collision course, Gaara’s tongue probing, seeking every corner of Lee’s mouth. The point of his clever tongue drags down the roof of Lee’s mouth, a sensual slide over the ridges. He bites at Lee’s lower lip <i>hard</i>, leaves marks in the soft skin with his teeth. </p>
<p>It’s almost impossible to think over the blood pounding in his ears and that pulse echoing further south, where Gaara is pressed so hard against him. Lee hits that perfect stroke, where the texture of the towel and the drag of Gaara’s dick against his is so sweet, so perfect, that he thinks they both could almost come from just this, rutting against each other like it’s their first time all over again. </p>
<p>Lee doesn’t want that, though. He has grand designs for all the ways he plans to take Gaara apart tonight, separate beds be damned. </p>
<p>Lee manages to work a hand between them, and his fumbling with Gaara’s belt is clumsy enough that Gaara lets him come up for air. Gaara’s eyes are quicksilver-bright in the dimming room, his mouth a bruised-pink circle. His breath gusts out of him in hard pants. Lee cranes up to turn on the lamp over the bed just to see him better. </p>
<p>Lee gasps. He thought he had been gentle, but Gaara’s skin is so <i>fragile</i>, and his neck and chest are already freckling with tiny marks in the shape of Lee’s mouth, spots like he’s been tussling in a field of the summer’s last fruit, blackberry-dark on his neck and strawberry-pink on his chest. Lee trails more kisses down his speckled skin and onto the unmarked plain of his belly as his hand works awkwardly on the catch of the belt. That whine rises again in the back of Gaara’s throat, hips circling against the gentle pressure of Lee’s fingers. Lee cups him with the palm of his hand as he works, barely enough to take the edge off. Gaara is so hard that Lee can feel the heat of him through his pants. </p>
<p>He finally gets the belt undone, and Gaara relaxes back to the bed with a sigh as Lee goes to work on his pants’ button and zipper. Lee cups his hips and gently urges Gaara’s pelvis up so he can slowly drag the fabric down around Gaara’s ankles. He strips Gaara of his socks and pants, cautious of the nearby end of the bed, pressing soft kisses to the long bones of his feet and ankles, working his way slowly up the inside line of his calf to where his knee is bowed open. </p>
<p>The tender skin of Gaara’s inner thighs is pinpricked with goosebumps, and Lee runs his tongue up them to the key of Gaara’s pitched moan, to the creaking of the mattress as Gaara tilts his hips up, trying by force of gravity to draw Lee to where he wants him. His eyes are slitted when he stares down at Lee, half delirious, half furious. </p>
<p>Lee goes, but only because he thinks that if he keeps this up much longer, Gaara might <i>actually</i> kill him. The white fabric of his briefs is so saturated with precum that Lee can see the flush of his hardness inside, pink and full as if it’s already been kissed. Lee rubs his face along the fabric-covered shaft, mouth open, peppering Gaara’s hip with little kisses. He inhales deep the scent of Gaara, the smell of salt and musk and desperation. </p>
<p>Gaara rocks his hips hard to the side. It’s a dirty trick, designed to get the heat of Lee’s mouth on the fullness of him before Lee has decided to give it to him. Lee pulls back with a scolding expression on his face. His fingers stroke the divots of Gaara’s hips. </p>
<p>Gaara glares up at him. His eyes are narrowed but his pupils are blown wide, red hair tangled and wild. His marked-up chest is heaving with his breaths. He knocks his knee into the side of Lee’s hip. </p>
<p>“Lee,” he says lowly, and his voice is all threat, all lust. </p>
<p>“Hmm?” Lee plays innocent, biting down a smile at seeing Gaara so worked up for him, fraying at the seams just from a few (hundred) well-placed kisses and touches. He drags one hand up the span of Gaara’s ribs and back down again with just a hint of his nails, just to see how Gaara throws his head back, how his throat works at the touch. </p>
<p>Gaara catches his breath and props himself up on his elbows, glowering at where Lee is sitting: just far enough below his hips to hold him in place without offering any relief. </p>
<p>“Roll over,” Gaara says. “I want to top.”</p>
<p>It’s certainly not what Lee expected to hear. He sits back a half-inch to give Gaara some leverage. Gaara wriggles his hips backwards, sitting up. </p>
<p>Then, his eyes go wide. One hand flies up to the coverlet. </p>
<p>And Gaara vanishes off the side of the bed.</p>
<p>Lee hears a muffled <i>thump</i> from the floor.</p>
<p>“<i>Fuck!</i>”</p>
<p>Lee scrambles to his hands and knees and manages to bark his forehead against the overhead lamp for his trouble. It makes a sound like a rung bell. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Lee crashes to his knees at Gaara’s side. Gaara’s ass is inside the open suitcase on the floor, his bony knees draped comically over the sides.</p>
<p>Gaara scowls at him. “You’re bleeding.” </p>
<p>Lee slaps a hand to his forehead, and that hurts even worse. There’s already a small but prominent lump forming at his hairline. “It’s just a small head wound!” He grins, aiming for his most reassuring tone. “Nothing to worry about!”</p>
<p>“Here.” Gaara roots around in the suitcase he’s still sitting in and retrieves his pocket square, holding it out “I don’t have any Band-aids.” </p>
<p>“Ah, but it’ll get ruined!” Lee tries to fend him off, but as much as Lee is strong, Gaara is quick. He dodges Lee’s hands and presses the shiny fabric to Lee’s forehead.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Gaara tells him. “I was never going to use it again. I wasn’t planning on marrying anyone else, anyway.” </p>
<p>Lee’s heart thumps against his ribcage. He sits back with a smile and lets Gaara wipe the blood from his face. It’s just a tiny cut, really, though its location means it bleeds for more than it’s worth.  Gaara steals Lee’s towel to go to the ice machine, and Lee notices as he stands that Gaara has a mark on his ass in the exact shape of the suitcase handle. </p>
<p>When Gaara returns, Lee’s leaning against the bedframe. Gaara’s clutching a small bathroom washcloth full of ice, and he sheds the towel in the doorway as he makes his way over to Lee. He kneels between Lee’s spread legs to hold the makeshift icepack to his forehead, and Lee hisses in relief. </p>
<p>“You know,” Lee says thoughtfully, thankful for his Boy Scout First Aid badge, after Gaara has timed exactly five minutes of ice on his skin and is setting the washcloth aside for five minutes off. “It’s pretty roomy down here.” He spreads his hands out on the carpet in illustration, digging his fingers into the piling. “<i>And</i> there’s nowhere to fall to.”</p>
<p>Gaara’s expression is spectacularly unimpressed. “I’m not going to fuck you on a filthy hotel carpet.”</p>
<p>Lee laughs. “There’s probably more space between these beds than on them! We could pull the blankets down; it’ll be like camping!” </p>
<p>Gaara checks the timer on his phone for what seems an inordinate amount of time before replying, flatly, “No.” </p>
<p>Lee wraps his arms around Gaara’s waist and pulls him close for a tight hug. They’re both still naked, and it seems a shame to miss their wedding night over a little blood and bruising. He rubs his hands up and down the tension of Gaara’s back and feels him starting to go boneless. He presses a kiss to Gaara’s cheek and whispers in his ear, “Let me make it up to you? Please?” </p>
<p>“Fine,” Gaara relents. </p>
<p>Lee pumps his fist and makes a little cheering noise. </p>
<p>Gaara interrupts his celebration prematurely. “But not on the floor.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” Lee says agreeably. He fits his hands around Gaara’s narrow hips and tugs him to standing. Then he turns Gaara and sits him on the edge of the bed with his feet still on the floor. He settles himself between Gaara’s knees, hands on his thighs and thumbs already stroking up and down the soft skin of his inner thighs. </p>
<p>“How about this?” Lee presses a wet kiss to the inside of Gaara’s knee and feels him suppress a shiver. His breathing hitches, going a little ragged. His dick, which had gone soft amidst all the proceedings, twitches in interest. Lee’s hands skate closer, further up his legs until he’s stroking the line of Gaara’s hip, laying kisses upwards and in. </p>
<p>“Mm.” Gaara’s shoulders sink, tension easing as his hands find the sides of Lee’s face, thumbs at the corner of Lee’s mouth and fingers curling in his still-damp hair. Lee nips at the pad of one thumb and sucks the digit into his mouth, promising. </p>
<p>“No teasing this time,” Gaara murmurs breathlessly, as Lee releases his thumb and turns his attention somewhere altogether more prurient. “And wash your legs after. I don’t trust that carpet.”</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<p>“Lee,” Gaara calls irritably, and Lee almost drops both their bags in his scramble to reach his husband at the open door. </p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>Gaara simply stalks forward a few steps, extending his hand to the greater hotel room. It’s been a long, tedious day waiting in line at the body scanners, waiting in hard plastic seats to board at the jetway, waiting in the crowd at baggage claim, and yet more waiting to flag down a taxi. Lee is generally the more resilient of the two of them, and even he’s feeling the strain, sweat pitting the underarms of his t-shirt. The stress is written all over the tense lines of Gaara’s shoulders, the way he shakes his hand as if to say: <i>You see what I have to put up with?</i> </p>
<p>Their new hotel room is pleasantly lit, soft evening light causing the white linen of the curtains to seem to glow faintly. The carpet is thick, a pleasant creme color that provides a comforting reminder that it would show even the slightest stain. There’s a lacquered chair by a tiny desk topped with a fancy-looking coffee pot and several packets of flavored coffees, a TV that’s much larger than the one they have at home, and a pair of ocean-blue overstuffed armchairs by the broad window that looks out over the hotel’s pool. </p>
<p>There are also two beds.</p>
<p>At least they’re larger than the last pair, and cleaner by a good measure. They’re neatly made, with plush pillows stacked four deep at each headboard, thick duvets in sea shades that match the upholstery of the other furniture. A wrapped chocolate mint sits squarely in the middle of each pillow, leaving a sizeable divot as if to exhibit their softness. </p>
<p>A frustrated groan climbs up and out of Lee’s throat before he realizes he’s been making a sound. He lets the suitcases fall heavily to the ground. Inside Gaara’s he hears the telltale clatter of the things that blessedly did not get them pulled out of line at the airport. </p>
<p>“I’m going down to the desk,” Gaara says flatly, his tone brooking no argument.</p>
<p>Lee decides to try his hand at arguing anyway.</p>
<p>“Now, Gaara, <i>please</i> don’t be unkind to the front desk people. I’m sure they didn’t do it on purpose. It was probably just a mix-up.”</p>
<p>Gaara scowls. “<i>Once</i> might be a mix-up. Twice is a conspiracy to ruin my sex life.” </p>
<p>“You’re being paranoid,” Lee calls down the hallway at Gaara’s retreating back. “It’s not even the same hotel chain!”</p>
<p>Gaara holds up his middle finger. Lee catches the flash of the gold of his wedding band as he makes a fist and can’t help but grin. </p>
<p>“It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you,” Gaara shouts back, before he jams his finger against the elevator button.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The door’s keypad beeps, the lock clicks, and Lee finds himself staring at Gaara’s angriest face. It doesn’t look so different from his normal, resting face, which has always conveyed a measure of distaste and annoyance, but Lee has known his husband long enough to know Gaara is about fifteen seconds from either shouting or needing to go out into the garden for ‘cool-down time’. </p>
<p>And unfortunately there’s no garden here.  </p>
<p>“Bad news?” Lee offers gently. </p>
<p>Gaara slams the door behind him. His narrow shoulders are almost up to his ears with irritation, his mouth a small, pursed-flat line. </p>
<p>“There’s a <i>sports tournament</i> this week.” He spits the words like he’s saying something truly vile. “All the rooms are full.”</p>
<p>“Ooh!” Lee brightens immediately. “What sport? Maybe we can catch one of the games together.” </p>
<p>Gaara gives him a slightly bewildered look, like he couldn’t name a <i>sport</i> if it were a matter of life-or-death. “I don’t know,” he says. “The only two things I care about doing this week are getting out of this hotel room to do things we <i>both</i> enjoy … and staying in this hotel room to do things we both enjoy.” </p>
<p>Gaara looks meaningfully at his suitcase, which is sitting at the foot of one of the beds. Lee is the sort of person who always unpacks when he gets to a hotel (Who wants to live out of a suitcase, even for a week? And having things in order prevents both clothes-wrinkles <i>and</i> stress-wrinkles!), but he was a bit too mortified to set the things in the bottom of Gaara’s suitcase anywhere a housekeeper might see them. </p>
<p>Lee is briefly distracted by thinking about some of the activities he and Gaara have planned for this week. There’s a Botanical Gardens here that has apparently won some prestigious awards that Lee’s never heard of. Gaara’s been sending him screenshots from their website for weeks. They even have profiles of individual plants, styled almost like it’s a dating site. <i>Parodia nivosa cactus. Likes: Warm rain. Dislikes: Aphids.</i> They also have a number of hiking trails, which Lee is especially looking forward to. </p>
<p>Gaara nudges the suitcase with his toe, clearing his throat. </p>
<p>“I got the room comped, at least,” he says gruffly. There’s a faint hint of pink on his cheeks. </p>
<p>“Oh!” Lee feels the blush creeping up from under his shirt collar. “I have good news too! I checked, and these bedframes definitely aren’t bolted to the floor, so we can push the beds together!”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Lee is starting to feel a bit jelly-legged.</p>
<p>Not that he didn’t feel a bit jelly-legged before, after several hours wandering around the Botanical Gardens in the summer heat, followed by his solo excursion onto the hiking trails. They had a trail that was ranked a Double Black Diamond, something Lee hadn’t known existed outside of ski slopes. Naturally, he challenged himself to run four laps on it. Gaara declined accompanying him and instead bought himself a lemonade from the gift shop to enjoy on the bench at the trailhead while Lee ran. He only looked up from his newly purchased field guide to wildflowers from under the brim of his oversized sunhat to wave as Lee completed each lap. </p>
<p>But the wobbliness Lee is feeling now is of an altogether different tenor. </p>
<p>He’s laid out on the shoved-together beds with his hands over his head. The hotel beds don’t exactly have slats in the headboard, which means there’s nowhere practical to fasten the cuffs. Gaara didn’t bring actual <i>handcuffs</i>, of course--those never would have passed airport security--but the cuffs he has Lee wearing are buttery-soft leather, with a chain between designed to be slotted around a bedpost. Gaara briefly suggested attaching them to the bedside table, when it seemed like Lee wasn’t going to keep his hands where Gaara wanted them, but that would probably have strained even Lee’s very flexible shoulders. So Lee has his arms stretched all the way up, as far as he can reach them, hands held in place by nothing more than Gaara’s insistence. He feels a little exposed, like this, his ribs, his stomach, his chest laid out like a feast for Gaara’s roving eyes. </p>
<p>Gaara is perched between Lee’s spread legs, propped up on his elbows. There’s still a little dusting of pollen on his face from where he got too close to a plot of daisies. He has dirt under his nailbeds and a pattern of pinpricks on his forearm from where he got overenthusiastic near the cacti, and he’s so, so beautiful. </p>
<p>He’s also holding a bullet vibrator like it’s a weapon, snug against the base of Lee’s cock, testing the various speeds with his eyebrows raised to gauge Lee’s response.</p>
<p>“You said you’d make it up to me,” he says. “For when I fell on the floor.” </p>
<p>Lee is so turned on it’s frankly a little difficult to keep track of Gaara’s words. The marks on Gaara’s chest have mostly faded, but the ones on his neck are still blood-dark, high enough that Lee is almost certain he caught the waitress at the diner where they ate lunch giving them both appraising looks. </p>
<p>“Huh? I thought I--” Lee pants, squirms. </p>
<p>Gaara twists the little plastic dial and the buzzing noise increases in frequency. </p>
<p>“But--<i>aah!</i> yes, yes.” His legs writhe, heels making a mess of the sheets. </p>
<p>Gaara’s expression is perfectly placid, but his stare is so intense it almost burns, tracking up and down Lee’s body, mapping every little response as he tweaks the dial up and down. </p>
<p>Lee knows Gaara doesn’t really mean it, when he talks about Lee owing him this. It’s all part of the game, letting Gaara call the shots and seeing how far Lee’s body can push itself. And they so rarely get to play like this, with how involved and time-consuming it is: the set-up, the aftercare, cleaning and storing everything neatly. Especially with two busy careers and a cat who howls when she’s locked out of the bedroom for too long (and Lee refuses--<i>refuses</i>--to have sex in front of a cat). </p>
<p>“Whatever you want,” Lee breathes.</p>
<p>“I was going to fuck you. I didn’t get to do that.” Gaara cranks the dial to maximum. “Can I?” </p>
<p>Lee makes a sound that he’s sure can be heard two floors up and all the way down the hall to the elevator. His dick jumps, precum smearing his stomach. The sensation is so intense, he desperately wants to touch himself, but the pressure against his wrists reminds him of what Gaara asked him to do. </p>
<p>“Yes, anything. Do you want me to--?” Lee mimes as if to roll himself over, but Gaara’s free hand clamps on his thigh like a vise. The gold of his wedding band glints in the periphery of Lee’s vision. </p>
<p>“No, stay there.” He turns the vibrator down to just a low, pleasant thrum. Irregular pulsing, barely on the edge of sensation. “I want to see you.” </p>
<p>There’s a brief moment where an expression of consideration flashes across Gaara’s pollen-flecked face. He skates a hand up Lee’s ribs--Lee flinches from the ticklish sensation--and rubs at the muscle of Lee’s arms. </p>
<p>“How are your shoulders?” he asks, thumb making gentle motions on taut skin. “Any pain? Fatigue?” </p>
<p>Lee smiles at him, and his heart sings when Gaara returns it with a soft smile of his own. “I’m fine. I could do this for hours.”</p>
<p>“Hours, huh?” Gaara glances down at Lee’s crotch and makes a motion like he’s going to turn the vibrator back up, but then doesn’t. </p>
<p>Lee quickly amends, “Hold my arms up, I mean! Not--not the other part.” </p>
<p>“Hmm.” Gaara winds his fingers between Lee’s and pulls his hands down until they’re just above his dick. “Well. I think you could use a break.” </p>
<p>Lee has to admit there’s a pleasant relief to repositioning his arms after so long. He rolls his shoulders minutely, little circles to ease the tension from the muscles, and sighs. </p>
<p>“That’s what I thought.” Gaara presses the vibrator into Lee’s hand. “Hold that there for a moment, but don’t touch yourself. I’ll be right back.” </p>
<p>Gaara retreats to the bathroom, and Lee has a brief moment to stare appreciatively at his ass as he leaves. He has quite the shiner across one cheek from the suitcase handle, and another two, smaller bruises beside it that Lee can’t quite place. He purses his lips in thought--he hadn’t bitten Gaara <i>there</i>, had he?. Then it dawns on him: the cufflinks! He has to stifle a giggle. </p>
<p>Without Gaara there, the sensation of the vibrator isn’t <i>doing much</i> for Lee, too weak and unpredictable to push him any closer to the edge than he is now. He supposes that must be the point. He holds it in place dutifully as he hears the water running in the bathroom, Gaara opening and slamming drawers and cabinets. </p>
<p>Gaara returns to the room wiping his hands on a towel, the skin of his hands pink and freshly scrubbed.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me I had dirt on my face?” </p>
<p>“I thought it looked charming.” Lee bites his lip.</p>
<p>Gaara’s upper lip raises in a sneer. “It looked <i>dirty</i>.”</p>
<p>“I thought it was more … rakish. Like you’d been on an adventure.”</p>
<p>“I was looking at begonias and Venus flytraps all day, how adventurous do you think I am?” </p>
<p>Lee bites back a laugh. As much as he loves their banter, he really wants Gaara in the bed with him. “Are you coming back?” </p>
<p>“Just a minute.” Gaara kneels by his suitcase. “I couldn’t find the lube. Did you unpack it?”</p>
<p>“Oh, er … no.” Lee flushes suddenly, whole-bodied. “I um. I was worried housekeeping might find it.” </p>
<p>Gaara gives him a blank look. “But you don’t care that half the hotel just heard you shouting my name.” </p>
<p>Lee wishes he could move his hands just now to cover his face. “Please don’t mention that.” </p>
<p>Gaara finally sits up from the suitcase, holding the bottle of lube up like a prize. He clambers back onto the bed and pushes Lee’s knees apart to climb between them. </p>
<p>“Did you move?” </p>
<p>Lee shakes his head. “No,” he says honestly.</p>
<p>Gaara hums, takes the vibrator and slides his hands up Lee’s body until his bound hands are back over his head. “Good,” he says, eyes slitted with pleasure.</p>
<p>Lee’s whole body goes molten with the praise. He feels himself twitch against Gaara’s stomach, where Gaara’s splayed out over him like a predator over its prey. A tiny, indulgent smile quirks the corner of Gaara’s lips. He looks Lee right in the eye, and Lee feels bare under that intimacy. Gaara’s fingers tug at the restraints, testing their fit. He slides a thumb under each wristband to check Lee’s skin. “How is that? Still comfortable?” </p>
<p>Lee nods hurriedly, eager for Gaara to get back to what he was doing. His shoulders feel fine; he’s <i>fine</i>, but the way Gaara’s pressed hot against him, skin faintly slippery with sweat, is making him desperate for more. </p>
<p>Gaara presses a quick kiss to each of Lee’s wrists: wet mouth, soft pressure, a hint of teeth. Then he’s back down and fumbling with something Lee can’t see. Lee hears the <i>click</i> of the lube cap, the slip of wet fingers against each other. He feels the tiny adjustments of Gaara’s hand on the vibrator, faint warning before the device is buzzing to life again on full blast, just as Gaara slips a finger inside him. </p>
<p>Lee’s dick throbs under the onslaught. His skin goes suddenly cold as all the blood in his body redirects itself from his flushed face and chest to his cock. Gaara’s finger feels exquisite inside him, all gentle pressure and soft stroking working him open, and Lee thrusts his hips down on it, already aching for more. </p>
<p>Gaara’s clever finger finds that spot within Lee within seconds, and he sets a punishing pace against it in time with the thrumming of the vibrator. Lee has to shut his eyes against the sensation, hardly aware of anything other than the frisson of heat inside him and the buzzing against the base of his dick. He’s making some kind of noise, he thinks--a moan or a scream, he can’t be sure--and his balls start to tighten against his body. </p>
<p>Gaara pulls back all at once. </p>
<p>Lee’s eyes fly open as his body sags back to the bed, staring at Gaara with a wounded expression. </p>
<p>Gaara sits back on his heels, both hands held up. </p>
<p>“Were you about to come?” he says flatly. </p>
<p>Lee nods, chin almost smacking his chest with the motion. He urges his hips down towards Gaara’s legs between his as if to illustrate the point. </p>
<p>“Tell me next time,” Gaara says flatly. The vibrator is still humming in his hand and he deadens it with a <i>snap</i> of the dial. “When you’re close. I want to be inside you when you come.” </p>
<p>Lee’s legs, previously bent up at the knee, fall slack. How can Gaara just <i>say</i> things like that? It doesn’t seem fair. He nudges Gaara a bit with his foot, urging him closer. </p>
<p>Gaara glances down at his foot, then trains his eyes back on Lee’s face. “I didn’t hear you agree.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lee whispers, feeling desperate and overwhelmed and shimmery with heat, “anything. I’ll tell you. Now please--”</p>
<p>“Good.” And that word alone almost takes Lee apart. Quick as anything, Gaara’s working two fingers back in him, gentle, insistent pressure against that spot in perfect rhythm. He holds the vibrator up. “Is this too much right now?” </p>
<p>Lee shakes his head, wiggles his hips down on Gaara’s knuckles. “No, um, just maybe … not--ngh--” Gaara thrusts his fingers at a particularly perfect angle and Lee loses his voice for a second. “--maybe not. So high?”</p>
<p>Gaara turns the vibrator on to its lowest setting, trails it all the way down Lee’s shaft to just behind his balls. “How’s this?” </p>
<p>The gentle thrumming against his perineum sets the perfect counterpoint to the motion of Gaara’s fingers. Just enough to hold him on the edge of pleasure without pushing him over it. Lee groans, shifting against the little device. </p>
<p>“That’s perfect.” </p>
<p>Lee’s glad he can’t see himself right now, because his voice sounds wrecked, vowels gone slurred and sloppy like the last time he got regrettably, embarrassingly drunk (years ago, at one of his now-brother-in-law’s shindigs, before Gaara’s family learned what a terrible idea it was to spike the punch with Lee as a party guest.) But he doesn’t want to think about being drunk or about Gaara’s brother right now, because Gaara’s moving the vibrator in slow, grinding circles in time with the motions of his fingers, stopping every now and then to drag it up Lee’s shaft and press it so gently it’s almost ticklish to the sensitive head of Lee’s dick. </p>
<p>“Gaara,” Lee pants, after far too many minutes of that torture, long after he knows he’s been worked open enough for Gaara to slip inside, at the point where the notion of <i>stretching</i> is almost an academic exercise. “Please, I’m ready. Please.”</p>
<p>“You made me wait a long time,” Gaara says lowly. He’s suddenly terribly close, his chest pressed against Lee’s stomach, his mouth at Lee’s throat, teeth at the corner of his jaw, those clever, wicked fingers still working, working. “Last time. Do you remember?” </p>
<p>Lee doesn’t remember anything right now except for the sensation of Gaara’s fingers moving inside him, the electric buzz of the vibrator, Gaara’s hand circling the base of his dick, holding it tight, the wet-hot slick of the head of Gaara’s cock dragging against his inner thigh. </p>
<p>“<i>Please.</i>” It’s almost a sob, and Lee feels Gaara’s teeth bared against his throat in a smile before Gaara finally relents. Gaara’s fingers slip from him, and there’s a brief moment of reprieve as Gaara slicks himself, barely enough time for Lee to catch his breath before Gaara is sliding home inside him, all of a single motion, as deep as he can go. </p>
<p>Lee’s knees snap tight against Gaara’s hips, and Gaara stills, patiently waiting for Lee’s go-ahead, clicking the dial on the vibrator up by degrees as Lee trembles. </p>
<p>Lee lets out a great, shuddery breath punctuated by a moan. He can barely make his mouth move to form the words to tell Gaara, “You can move,” his breath all caught in his throat at Gaara--at <i>his husband</i>--holding him close like this, the look in his eyes as one hand snakes up to Lee’s bound hands, the way his fingers tenderly interlace with Lee’s, how he rubs at the skin below Lee’s wedding band. </p>
<p><i>Oh, this is not going to last long,</i> Lee thinks. </p>
<p>That’s exactly what Gaara is hoping for, apparently, because he adjusts his hips, gives a few tentative, exploratory thrusts. With one long stroke, Lee feels his eyes go crossed, and Gaara repeats the motion. And again. And again. </p>
<p>Gaara chuckles above him, hot breath ghosting Lee’s exposed neck where his head is thrown back into the down of the pillows. “I can feel it from inside you,” he says. He circles the vibrator around the base of Lee’s dick, down beneath his balls and back up again in illustration, driving home on the upstroke. Lee feels himself sinking deeper into the cradle of Gaara’s hips. Gaara missed a spot of pollen, just near his hairline, he notices idly, as Gaara thrusts hard into him, as the graze of Gaara’s dick against his prostate and the thrum of the vibrator make him feel weightless. He feels suspended on nothing at all, like his body’s on a tightrope of sensation, just gravity and desire dragging them closer and closer together.</p>
<p>“I’m going to--” Lee starts. </p>
<p>There’s a great <i>screech</i> of metal. Gaara’s pace falters. His eyes go wide. </p>
<p>Lee comes all over himself just as they both slide to the floor in a heap of blankets, in the space between the two mattresses. </p>
<p>Gaara lets out a spectacular string of curse words. </p>
<p>Lee rapidly abandons all pretense of obeying directions as he unsnaps one of the cuffs from his wrists and reaches for Gaara’s face. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he asks, stroking his thumb across Gaara’s cheekbone. He scrambles to sit up, and Gaara scoots back to assess the damage. Their fall from grace was thankfully slow due to the tension of the sheets stretched across two mattresses, their landing cushioned by the many duvets and pillows they had heaped across the two beds. </p>
<p>“Nothing bruised but my pride,” Gaara says finally, poking at the skin of his knees. “You?” </p>
<p>Lee sheepishly examines the stickiness on his stomach. “Ugh,” he groans. “That was embarrassing, but I’m fine, physically.” He cringes. “I am so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Twice.” </p>
<p>Gaara gives Lee a considering once-over. Lee looks down at Gaara’s crotch and notices that, against all odds, he’s still hard. </p>
<p>“Are you, um … ?” Lee gestures, wincing. “Can I help you with that?” </p>
<p>Gaara’s expression softens. He crouches forward until he’s over Lee again. His hand strokes the side of Lee’s face, fingers tugging the stray hairs in front of Lee’s ear. His cock nudges Lee’s stomach, smears against the cum splattered there. </p>
<p>“Are you still up for it?” </p>
<p>Lee presses a kiss to the palm of Gaara’s hand, uses his knees to urge Gaara a little closer, slotting their hips together so Gaara’s dick is riding the crest of his hipbone. </p>
<p>“I thought you said you weren’t going to f--<i>make love</i> to me on a dirty hotel carpet.” </p>
<p>Gaara purses his lips, still gently rocking against Lee. “Well,” he concedes, “this isn’t the carpet. It’s the bedspread. And this hotel isn’t <i>as dirty</i>.” </p>
<p>Lee wraps his arms around Gaara’s shoulders to pull him close. The loose cuff trails down Gaara’s side with a melodic clanking. Gaara’s breathing has gone a little ragged. Lee hooks both his legs around Gaara’s lower back, tilts his hips up encouragingly. “We can shower together after.” </p>
<p>“If you say so,” Gaara grunts as he slips inside Lee. “Desperate times--” </p>
<p>Lee muffles a laugh against Gaara’s collarbone that dissolves into a moan as Gaara starts thrusting again in earnest. Gaara’s thoughtful to keep his thrusts shallow, but Lee’s body is still terrifically sensitive, like one raw nerve as Gaara’s pace increases. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Gaara hisses, but it’s the good kind of swear this time. He nips at Lee’s earlobe, and Lee moans in response, heels tight to the small of Gaara’s back, keeping him close, urging him on. </p>
<p>“Come on,” Lee murmurs into Gaara’s heated skin. He fists a hand in the mussed hair at the back of Gaara’s head, braces himself against Gaara’s body. </p>
<p>Gaara’s hips stutter, his teeth clenched around a groan, and Lee feels heat flood his insides. Gaara just holds him there for a moment, his whole body trembling slightly, before he pulls out and collapses at Lee’s side. </p>
<p>“Thanks,” he mutters. He nuzzles his face against Lee’s shoulder. “How are your shoulders?” </p>
<p>Lee laughs and spreads his arms out. “They’re fine. You know--” He rubs Gaara’s sweat-streaked back. “--the floor isn’t that uncomfortable after all. I kind of like it.” The beds loom at either side of them, blocking out the outside world so it’s just the two of them.  Another wrinkled sheet loses its battle against gravity and slips down to drape Gaara’s flank. “It’s kind of nice. Private.” </p>
<p>Gaara raises his face just enough to level Lee with a skeptical, one-eyed stare. </p>
<p>“Whatever you say.” It’s as agreeable as Gaara ever gets, so Lee will take it, especially as Gaara’s pillowing his face back into the crook of Lee’s arm, nosing against his skin like he’s burrowing for warmth, skin still burning hot and everything smelling of sex. </p>
<p>Lee smiles, staring up at the ceiling above their pillow fort for two. He’s going to feel sticky and disgusting in a few minutes, but for now he’s just haloed in heat and affection and light, without a care in the world. </p>
<p>Somewhere off in the tangled mess of their blankets, the vibrator is still buzzing.</p>
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